Visiting
by lydiamartinis
Summary: Stydia one-shot - Stiles asks Lydia to come with him to visit someone very special and close to him. She agrees, and they both go to visit the most important woman in Stiles' life - his mother, in Beacon Hills Cemetery. R&R if you like!
1. Chapter 1

_**Authors Note: Neither of us own Teen Wolf or any of the characters, all rights are reserved to their respective owners. In no way are we affiliated with the show or the actors involved. We are just two crazy-ass fans who ship Stydia a whole bunch, we just own the writing shown here**_**._ Thanks!_**

** - first Stydia one-shot Fanfic written by Mila and Jay. **

**Jay had this great idea of Stiles and Lydia visiting his mom at the cemetery together, and I immediately loved it. I hope you guys do too :) - Mila**

**I feel like I should apologize for how crappy I write.. and how unlike Stiles my Stiles actually is, haha. c: enjoy anyway, :3 - Jay**

**Important! Lydia's P.O.V is written by Mila, and Stiles's P.O.V by Jay. Line breaks are where the P.O.V's are swapped. This is adapted slightly from a post-post roleplay. Enjoy! **

* * *

**Visiting**

**Chapter 1**

Stiles wasn't entirely sure why he'd asked Lydia to come with him that day. Normally Scott would have been the person to accompany him on such an important trip, but with what happened on the night he stayed around the McCall house, he didn't want to bother his best friend more than was necessary. He would have been perfectly capable going by himself; but for some reason, he felt as if it was an impossible task to accomplish alone. Before Scott it was his dad who fulfilled this role, but with him busy and work constantly calling upon him, the last person who Stiles felt he could bring along with him was Lydia. They weren't exactly close; in fact they were always awkward around each other, but for some reason Stiles felt like he got a kind of strength from her that he couldn't get anywhere else. He was very thankful for her agreeing to do this.

"Thank you," Stiles said openly as he pulled his beloved jeep into an empty parking space. The car park itself was pretty empty; all but two cars, not including the turquoise jeep, were parked there. They were at a place that meant a lot to Stiles; a place that everyone in town knew about, but somehow ignored and feared. They paid little to no attention to it unless it was needed, unlike Stiles. He made it mandatory to visit once a month. It got easier each time, too, but he still wasn't ready to come alone. He feared that he never would be able to. "For coming with me. I know it seems a bit weird," he said, pulling the keys from the ignition. He unclipped the seat belt keeping him firmly in place, but still wouldn't look towards the girl in the passenger seat. His caramel eyes were forwards, surveying the area beyond the wrought iron fence.

Through the dark, almost rusted bars, Stiles could see patches of green, pathways and trees dotted around. For a sullen place like this, it was eerily beautiful; especially at times like this when the trees were browning and the leaves were being shed. A soft gust of wind brushed past the jeep and the area around it; picking up copper coloured leaves with invisible hands, before tossing them around in pretty motions in the air. Stiles watched for a second, and then drew in a deep breath as his eyes drifted up above the gates of the area. There, in large, iron letters, read the words: 'BEACON HILLS CEMETERY'.

Stiles didn't at all seem out of place given the fact that he was about to walk inside a grave yard. He seemed totally at ease; like he'd been here every day of his teenage life. He hadn't come here that often, but when he found the time, he made it a self-promise to come once a month with his mom's favourite flowers. Content, Stiles finally looked towards Lydia, who wasn't nearly as calm as he was. Stiles found that a little amusing considering she'd seen more dead bodies in the past month than an adult in their whole life. The bodies here were at peace, though, not torn to shreds like the ones she was used to.

Another moment or two of silence and stillness, and then Stiles made a move. He shoved his faintly clinking keys into his pocket and then turned around to view the back seats of his jeep. He twisted his body nimbly, without any problems, and then with one arm, reached into the back seats to grab something. There, beside his school backpack, was a fresh batch of colourful flowers, a mixture of reds, pinks and purples. Tulips, his mom's favourite. He gripped the flowers and returned to his seat normally, and then held them in his lap for a while. He looked down at them, inspecting them for imperfections, and then raised his eyes to Lydia beside him.  
"C'mon," he ushered, and then exited the car, the flowers he'd bought for his mom in his free period in hand.

With the jeep now a bit behind them both and the large, almost scary iron gates separating them from the luscious, peaceful looking grave yard, Stiles pulled up on the collar of his hoodie to keep his neck warm from the faint breeze. The silence that engulfed the pair of teenagers was uneasy, and Stiles could tell that Lydia was uncomfortable with all of this. He wanted her to be relaxed like him; otherwise he could possibly get extremely upset, which hadn't happened in a long time. He was keen to keep his incident-less record going. Just because it was Lydia here instead of Scott or his dad didn't change much. In fact, it might just bring them closer together.  
"Looks pretty doesn't it," he began, opening the large gate for Lydia to walk through first. His voice was unwavering, relaxed and for once, not shaky as he spoke to his all-time biggest crush.

In an attempt to lighten the mood, Stiles caught up with Lydia and looked down at her from his taller position while they walked the gravelly path, tomb stones both pretty new and anciently old lining the way. Trees blotted out the sunlight above them, and with the wind brushing through the branches, brown leaves gently fell to the floor around them. To the right there was a couple stood beside a grave, one person much older while the other was a child. Off to the far left, quite a ways away and down a slightly sloping hill, a dark car drove slowly over the gravel, towards the building at the back of the cemetery, where the funerals would take place.  
"D'you think Allison still likes Scott?" he brought up randomly, in a cheery attempt to keep the atmosphere light between them. They carried on walking with Stiles partly leading the way down a path that jutted off to the right, to a place where the graves were more spaced, well-kept and generally more beautiful. Where Claudia Stilinski was buried.

* * *

The closer they got to the cemetery, the worse the feeling in Lydia's stomach got. It was as if someone had put an elastic band around her insides and was slowly pulling it tighter. She quietly tried to blame the fact that the coffee she had this morning was stronger than the one she usually drank, but deep down she knew that it had nothing to do with what she drank or ate that day. This feeling was unlike any feeling she had ever experienced and it brought waves of slight nausea with it. She kept looking at herself over and over again in the mirror of the Stiles' car, probably seeming like the vainest person on this planet, when all she was doing was staring at herself, because she felt strangely like she didn't know the person in the mirror anymore. There was no way she was going to back out now though, she had already promised Stiles that she would go to the cemetery with him, because Scott couldn't. To be honest, she thought it was pretty shitty of Stiles' best friend to leave him hanging like this. What on earth was Scott so busy doing anyways that he couldn't cancel in order to support his friend?

"Sure," she mumbled when Stiles pulled into an empty parking lot and thanked her for coming here with him. It was no problem; she didn't have any other important plans for the day. Her mother was finally back in Beacon Hills and had offered to take her shopping and afterwards to dinner in some fancy restaurant, which honestly would have been nice … but Lydia had a feeling that Stiles needed her more this afternoon. She could spend hours upon hours looking through shoes and clothes with her mother some other day. Not today. Grabbing her pretty, brown leather purse, she unbuckled her seat belt and glanced up at the big gate. She hadn't been here in a long time, not since her grandmother's funeral several years ago. Lydia had barely known her, which was why she never came to visit the woman's grave. It was a good thing though, not having anyone close to you buried underneath the cold ground.

Swallowing hard, she finally moved and got out of the Jeep, careful not to get her skirt dirty. Stiles' car looked like it had seen better times, but then again, maybe that was just because she was so used to Jackson's Porsche or her own, shiny and new car. Either way, she was glad she had chosen to wear flats instead of high heels. It made getting in and out of the vehicle a lot easier. She walked around the car and over to Stiles, briefly glancing at the batch of flowers in his hand, all warm colours, pink, red and purples, some of Lydia's favourites. "They're beautiful," she commented quietly, a small smile gracing her full, red lips, a smile that slowly faded as they walked towards the iron gate of Beacon Hills' cemetery.

_"Looks pretty doesn't it"_ She didn't understand how Stiles could be so calm in this moment. It seemed to make no sense to her how he wasn't even more uncomfortable than she was. He was the one visiting his mother's grave. She was just his support and yet a feeling of restlessness was crawling over her skin like ants. Without a comment, she stepped through the gate, glancing around as if to expect to find the source for her anxiety, but there was nothing uncommon anywhere to be seen. No Peter Hale standing in the shadows of the trees, watching her, just a few other visitors who paid no attention to Stiles and her.

The worst was the feeling of …'belonging". It grew stronger and stronger as they kept walking along the path and past tomb stones and for a second, Lydia was afraid she was going insane again, because it was getting so intense she was afraid it would overwhelm her and she would drop to the ground, crying. Looking like a nut-job once again was definitely the last thing she ever wanted to do, especially not when she was here to support a friend. Closing her eyes for a few seconds, she inhaled the cool November air and focused on the feeling of the wind blowing through her strawberry blonde hair and the warm rays of sun on her skin. _"D'you think Allison still likes Scott?"_ The sudden, random question startled her and she turned her head to look up at Stiles. "I don't know," she answered automatically, before even thinking about it. "Feelings change." She shrugged lightly, turning her head to look at the flowers besides the path. She honestly wasn't sure about Allison's current feelings towards Scott, her friend preferred to avoid that topic and Lydia wasn't in the mood to play matchmaker for them. She figured if they were supposed to be together, they would have to find a way on their own.

They headed right and soon found themselves in an area where the graves were more spaced. Lydia was quietly wondering how often he came here, but chose not to ask. Instead, she kept her gaze on the flowers and trees around them, with all her senses fully alert even though whatever she felt didn't seem like it was … dangerous. Surrounded by graves, she felt like she was screaming without opening her mouth and crying without shedding any tears. She felt like she was at home and yet trapped, but looking over at Stiles, she realized that he didn't feel like this. She was going insane, yet again.

* * *

Birds were chattering in the distance, far off, but still loud enough to be heard by Stiles as he walked. Beneath his vans he could hear the crunch-crunch-crunch of small stony gravelly pieces; and beside him, he could hear the leaves rustling nicely. All together this made for the perfect backing track to what he was doing, but no matter how perfect things seemed to be, it was far from it. The boy's caramel coloured eyes dropped from the surrounding scenery and passing tomb stones, to Lydia, who was walking alongside Stiles closely. The Lydia that he was used to was perky, confident and totally out there; this Lydia before him now was very different. Slowly, Stiles was getting used to the idea of this kind of Lydia. He'd seen her in her most un-Lydia-like states more than most people had; the latest of which being the other night when he drove to her house to check on her. She ended up being totally fine, but Stiles was left with a painful pang in his chest that wouldn't leave him be. She'd confided in him about Jackson that night, and seemed to totally ignore the fact that he was there for her; all for her.

Lydia's answers were extremely short. Stiles didn't like that – in fact, it pushed down harder on that feeling of uneasiness between them. With all of the things that the two of them had seen lately, Stiles wondered if this, being in a cemetery, was perhaps too much for her. He knew that if he'd been around mutilated bodies as much as her and then had come here would mess him up, so what was this doing to Lydia? A looming feeling of guilt washed over the boy as the two of them started down the off-beat path.

Down here the sun was blotted out even more by the thickening leaves overhead. The grass was well-mown, a healthy, deep green, and around them there were a multitude of wooden benches to sit on. This was the nicer part of the cemetery, the place where the richer people would have been buried. Looking up from the path, Stiles caught sight of a few tomb stones he'd passed often. Michael Corday, seventy two, and his wife were buried side by side. Strangely enough, Stiles always managed a small smile at those two graves. Something told him that they had a long, happy life together, and being buried beside one another would have been how they wanted to go. They wouldn't be alone wherever they were now; not unlike his mother.

The silence between Lydia and Stiles, although filled with faintly chirping birds, the soft breeze and the ristle-rastle of leaves around them, was enough to make an ice queen feel uneasy. Stiles felt like he'd dragged Lydia here against her own will, even though she was the one who had agreed to come. She'd gotten in his car through choice, not because he pulled her along. Thinking it over now, he realized it was unfair of him to ask such a thing of her. What if she thought he was weird? Sad? Or what if she thought this was a ploy to get her to like him? Stiles didn't want Lydia to think that he was using his dead mom to get leverage on her, because he really wasn't. He just felt stronger in her company, that was all.

She answered his question with an innocent enough sounding 'I don't know', to which Stiles looked down at the flowers in his hand. He didn't know either – to him, Scott was still very much into Allison, but he hadn't seen much of her around lately. He was always with Scott, no one else. Lydia's voice came again, this time Stiles met her gorgeous green eyes with his caramel coloured orbs. Feelings change. They do. His lips began to curl into a warm smile at her and he nodded, before turning his attention forwards. Now, he had led Lydia off of the main path and onto a less noticeable trail. It led down to a small lake which was, in his opinion, his favourite part of this place. His favourite part of Beacon Hills altogether actually.

"I hope they do get something going again," he said, "I mean, he was way happier when Allison and he were… well, together. Now he's…" Stiles shook his head, shrugged and sighed. "It's like he's focusing on the bad instead of the good. Nothing to be happy about, y'know?" he wasn't sure if this was helping Lydia, but it did him, so he hoped it was the same for her.

Pretty soon it was obvious that Stiles had run out of things to say. His demeanour had grown from relaxed to agitated, and his large eyes were wide and alert. He was staring straight ahead, right down the end of the pathway, where only three graves sat. The one on the left hand side was his mothers'.  
"There she is," he spoke quietly, almost a whisper, and actually stopped in his tracks. His footfalls came to a grinding halt and the gravel stopped shifting beneath his feet. His eyebrows turned upwards and he took a deep, much-needed breath. He felt his chest tighten momentarily, all because Lydia wasn't answering him back.

"Look, if you wanna go, I'll drive you home," he said, looking down at the ground, away from where his mother was buried. "I didn't mean to drag you all the way out here. I just… didn't wanna come alone."

* * *

Lydia remained quiet when Stiles told her that Scott was happier when he was with Allison. Having never paid that much attention to the werewolf, she wasn't really able to tell a difference, but she believed Stiles. After all, he was Scott's best friend and knew a lot more about what was going on with him than Lydia did. Talking about their friends' broken relationship at the cemetery seemed a little odd to her though and she inwardly found herself wondering why he had brought it up in the first place. She didn't feel like discussing it any further, but this wasn't the place to tell him to shut up either, so she didn't say anything and kept staring down as they walked, watching the red, orange and yellow leaves dancing on the ground. If it hadn't been for the strange feeling in her stomach, this walk would have been pretty harmonic and enjoyable. It reminded her of when she was a child and her father had taken her to the park in autumn, long before her parents had gotten divorced. Life had been so easy back then, she was happy just holding her father's hand, watching the ducks in the river and holding a huge strawberry lollipop in her other hand. The memory faded as fast as it had come and Lydia realized that Stiles had stopped in his tracks.

_"There she is."_ Her eyes followed his, to the end of the pathway where she saw three graves. The left one was the one where Stiles' mother was buried. Just then she realized that she didn't even know how his mother had died. It could have been an accident, it could have been a disease – Lydia was absolutely clueless. As she heard Stiles take a deep breath right next to her, she almost felt as if she was intruding on a private moment between mother and son and she had to remind herself that he wanted her here. What did Scott do when he was here with Stiles? What did he say? Was she supposed to stand here and keep a distance while Stiles walked over to the grave? Was she supposed to go with him? All of a sudden, she didn't feel smart or like a genius anymore, all of a sudden, she was just a dumb, strawberry blonde girl who had never lost anyone who was really close to her. Someone like a loving mother.

"It's okay," she suddenly found herself saying, staring off at the green grass that surrounded the graves. Stiles offered to drive her home, but he didn't have to. For a moment, she was just gazing into space, and then she blinked a few times as if she was coming out of some sort of haze and slowly ran a hand through her hair that was blowing around in the wind. Stiles was still busy looking at the ground, seemingly hesitant about walking over to his mother's grave and Lydia slightly tilted her head looking up at him. "Well, you're not here alone," she said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Just a second later she felt a few raindrops on her skin even though the sun was still shining, but neither her nor Stiles seemed to have noticed that the sky wasn't completely free of clouds and that it was slowly getting darker around them. "Stiles" She said his name in a surprisingly soft voice, one that seemed to belong to an angel rather than to Lydia Martin, the bitch. With her eyes still on him, she reached out until her left hand lightly touched his free right hand. Then, all at once, she just took his hand in hers, closing her fingers around his and gently pulling him with her, towards his mother's grave.

* * *

Right about now would be the time that Stiles Stilinski would begin to freak out. In his head neurons would by now be firing well beyond their normal range; his heart would be pumping at fifty times the normal and healthy rate, he would begin to lose all sensation in his fingertips and legs and he would stutter like a child. But he didn't. He couldn't. A sudden feeling of overwhelming guilt came over his heart, all at once, like one huge bucket of ice cold water had been tipped over his head. How the hell could he have asked something this huge of her? They weren't even close friends! This was the moment that Stiles realized he'd begun to kid himself into believing that something was there between them… just because he'd been there for her, just because he'd been the one to listen to her about Jackson, and just because he'd fallen asleep in her bedroom. How terribly stupid of him.

_'It's okay.'_

Looking up from the dark path, Stiles saw Lydia's long, flowing hair being gently tousled in the increasing wind. Like strands of perfect copper, they were to him. And then she turned, and it was like something out of a movie for him. Her hair swished in the air, perfectly framing her shoulders, the speckled but fading sunlight that came through the leaves hit her skin in all of the right places, and those eyes – she had eyes that could stop elephants in their tracks. Eyes that could stop wars. Pools of utter, flawless perfection that he could stare into for the rest of his life. 'Well, you're not here alone.'

What was it about this visit that made everything so difficult? He wasn't alone. He had company. Was that it? Was it Lydia doing this to him? Giving him both strength to walk but at the same time making him feel so insignificant, unwanted and unimportant that he shouldn't bother her with his existence anymore? Lydia said his name in the softest of all tones, and just like that, Stiles's pained expression smoothed out. His tightly pursed, pale lips fell apart, his eyes locked onto those lips of hers and he felt his extremities go numb – in the good way, too.

He swallowed, the only human mechanism left within him that didn't include thought – besides keeping his racing heart from stopping and his lungs from pumping air in and out of his chest. Through the tingly numbness in his fingers, he felt a soft, inviting warmness clasp around his fingers. It got a tad tighter, and then he was gently being tugged down the pathway again. Stiles would have stumbled head over heels if it wasn't for Lydia guiding him safely down that pathway. He would have collapsed and never have gotten back up again.

The tightness in his chest became slightly more bearable with every step that they took together. There it was again, that strength that she instilled into the boy without doing anything at all. It was in those eyes of hers; those impeccable, flawless disks of hue green, it was in those perfect, plump, pink lips and reflected through her unmarred skin. Stiles continued to stare at her a moment longer, before he felt his body react to hers, and his fingers gently tightened against hers. He held on, and followed suit as Lydia brought him to where he had come to be.

And then, after what felt like an endless marathon of numbed walking, they were there. At the end of the pathway; gravestone one, two and three circling them. In front of them now, a rounded, grey hunk of rock that had been expertly carved into a beautiful headstone. The grass covering the grave was exactly like the surrounding blades, showing that it had had many years of growth. Compared to some of the other headstones around them; some tucked behind trees, others sloping down the hill, and the many, many others that they had both passed, this one was among the most beautiful. In large letters read:

_'Claudia Stilinski  
Adored Wife, Devoted Mother, Forever Loved and Forever Missed'_

Stiles didn't take his eyes from Lydia's frame to read it. Instead, he remained observing the girl who'd taken his hand, the girl with the strawberry blonde hair. A voice in the back of his head was screaming, wailing at him to breathe quicker, to make his heart explode in his chest, to yank his hand away from Lydia's in an attempt to keep his balance and prevent a full-blown mess-up, but he pushed it aside. He was at ease now. More than ever. More than he ever had been when Scott was here, or even when his dad had come along to visit her.

In the distance, a huge, booming clap of thunder sounded. What had started out to be a perfect afternoon with warming sun and clear skies had quickly grown into something ugly. The sun had retreated behind the protection of greying clouds, and those puffs of colourless mass began to spittle rain down on Beacon Hills. First it was one drop, and then two, and then Stiles felt the cold pellets hit his face, hair and neck all at once. The rain came down and drowned out the wind, the birds, everything. Even the colour seemed to bleed from the warm autumn surroundings. All except for Lydia's bright hair. As Stiles watched the rain come down relentlessly upon her shoulders and hair, he refused to let go that sense of awe that had come over him. He continued to stare, as if in a trance. His hand gently gripped hers a little tighter as the rain came down heavier still, but he wouldn't let go. Not yet.

* * *

**Thanks for reading - chapter 2 will be up soon enough, guys! Loving the reviews so far, haha. Let us know what we're doing wrong! - Jay**


	2. Chapter 2

**_Authors Note: Neither of us own Teen Wolf or any of the characters, all rights are reserved to their respective owners. In no way are we affiliated with the show or the actors involved. We are just two crazy-ass fans who ship Stydia a whole bunch, we just own the writing shown here. Thanks!_**

**Well I'm sure anyone reading this is probably punching their screens right now raging at us for not posting sooner. For that we're sorry! Life got in the way and things went down, as you can understand, but here's chapter two for you all. We hope you like it.**

**I think that the ending of this could be taken a few different ways. I just wanna say that things are the way they are because me and Mila are constantly developing our characters in a roleplay. Things happen between Stiles and Lydia all the time, so please keep that in mind! - Jay**

**Important! Lydia's P.O.V is written by Mila, and Stiles' P.O.V is written by Jay. Line breaks are where the P.O.V's are swapped. This is adapted slightly from a post-post roleplay. Enjoy!**

* * *

**Visiting**

**Chapter 2**

All of a sudden, everything seemed so easy and all she had to do was to stop overthinking things. She had regained all of her self-confidence as she tugged on Stiles' hand, leading him down the pathway and over to his mother's grave. When they were standing in front of it, Lydia quietly turned her head to look at Stiles' profile. It was hitting her now more than ever before how strong he actually was. She'd never really realized it, because he was always playing the role of the nerdy jokester and Lydia automatically attributed all the courage and strength to the ones that so obviously showed it, the jocks and werewolves. But now, as she was standing next to him, with her fingers around his, she noticed for the first time how strong Stiles Stilinski was and how strong he probably always had been, just not in the most obvious ways. Not in a way that a popular and shallow girl like her would see unless someone smacked her over the head and told her the open her eyes.

Stiles' fingers were still clinging to hers and he made no move of letting go of her hand, so neither did she. That was what she was here for in the first place, wasn't it? To give him the support he needed and she didn't mind it at all. His hand was feeling warm in hers and even though she had been guiding him over to the grave, she felt like he was unknowingly guiding her too. He was leading her away from the intense feelings that had threatened to overcome her ever since she had stepped through the iron gate of the cemetery. In a way, he was keeping her in the here and now, hindering her mind from drifting away into the unknown. He was keeping her sane.

Lydia slowly averted her green eyes from him and read the inscription above the grave. It was beautifully worded and yet it seemed unfair that there was only so little space for words on a tomb stone. There was so much more to say about a person than would ever fit on a small, grey stone, so many things that people who randomly walked by and read the inscription would never know. After a short while, she felt Stiles' caramel colored eyes on her and slowly turned her head away from the grave to look back up at the taller boy. The rain had quickly gotten heavier and the sun was retreating behind the dark clouds, but neither of the two teenagers seemed to pay much attention to the changing weather at this moment. The pouring rain began to soak through the fabric of the sweater Lydia was wearing and water was starting to drop down from the tips of her already wet hair, onto her shoulders and down her neck. It was one of these moments that showed that Lydia Martin, who spent so much time on her make-up and hair and so much money on her outfits, was more than just a vain girl who freaked out at the first sight of a rain cloud.

She wasn't moving at all, not even when her flats and feet were getting soaking wet or when raindrops were falling onto her big, mascara-d eyelashes. In the distance, sounds of thunder could be heard. Lydia felt Stiles' hand grip onto hers tighter. His eyes were still on hers, which was starting to worry her, because he hadn't said anything in a while. He was just standing there, next to her and in front of his mother's grave, in complete and utter silence. "The flowers," she mumbled, gesturing at his other hand. It was like he forgot that he brought them and she had a feeling that if she didn't remind him of them, he would end up taking them back to the car. Blinking a few times, she rid her eyelashes of the rain drops that were clinging to them and glanced back at the tomb stone, shivering a little due to the cold. "What was she like?" No questions about how she had died, none at all. Just one question that prompted him to tell her about his mother, anything at all, because Lydia was standing in front of the grave of a person she knew nothing about.

* * *

Even though this whole thing must have looked beyond corny, there was, without saying, a kind of magic in the air. Just seconds ago, Stiles was unable to move. He was guilt-ridden; he offered to drive her home so that she wouldn't be uncomfortable in this place. But, ironically, the one out of the pair of them that wasn't comfortable here was helping the other to come through it all. She was helping him – Lydia Martin, the girl who everyone thought was a dumb pretty-bird. Even as Lydia turned both away from him to read the grave stone, and then back up to meet his eyes, she looked as beautiful as ever.

The pouring rain had next to no effect on her beauty. Her skin, although slowly being tainted by her bleeding mascara, retained that wonderful brightness and clearness that he adored. Her lips became paler but by no means any less attractive, and those eyes were only made to pop by the rain itself. Her hair was beginning to flatten considerably; individual strands of strawberry blonde locks came together to form matted patches and then the rain clung on tightly; dripping down from her dark hair onto her shoulders and arms. Stiles's own hair – where it was previously spiked at the front, was now totally flat. It was stuck down to his pale forehead, and the rain just continued to fall down; dripping from the end of his nose and from his lips and chin.

He heard Lydia's quiet voice over the top of the battering rain, and that was when he seemed to snap back into his physical body again. His large eyes blinked; once, twice, three times, four, and then he opened his mouth as if to reply to her. His breath immediately began to condense into a thick mist before his face, and he began faintly trembling in his own clothing. His hoodie provided no protection against the rain – if anything it collected it and made him even more soaked. His jeans did exactly the same thing. The only thing that seemed to prove dry was the flowers, and that was only because they had a pretty pink plastic casing around them to protect them.

He was reminded gently of what he'd come here to do by Lydia. Blinking again, Stiles looked down at the flowers in his hand and brought them up. They began collecting raindrops in their brightly coloured petals almost instantly. Stiles passed his tongue over his lips, collecting a few stray raindrops that had collected there. He squinted to stop rain from getting into his eyes, and then took a glance at where his mom was buried. The rain had begun darkening the tomb stone, making it an ugly shade of mottled grey, but he didn't mind. It was still beautiful to him, in many, many ways.

Much to his dismay, Stiles gently let go of Lydia's hand. He missed the feeling as soon as he had, but busied himself instead by kneeling down to the ground. He took a deep breath, lifted the flowers to his eyes so that he could look at them closely one last time, and then gently set them down beside the tomb stone. Even in the rain and against the ugly grey their colour remained; bright and zingy and quite uplifting. He spent a small amount of time kneeled down there, eyes downcast, just thinking. In his mind he imagined what his mom would look like now, the kind of things she would say to him and how she would react to all of this werewolf business going on around her town. He imagined her freaking out when Scott showed her his fangs, and then laughing it off, and then maybe even going on to admit that she thought he looked awesome.

Stiles's lips curled into a smile, but his eyes held onto a certain kind of sadness. Imagining would never make up for the real thing. He could think and wonder all that he would like, but in the end his mom wasn't there for him. She hadn't been for eight years now. Sighing, Stiles stood himself back up on his skinnier frame. He took a step back from the grave, back beside Lydia, and brought one hand to his forehead. With the back of his sleeve he wiped the water from his eyes and then turned to look at her, apparently trying to put up a stronger front than what he thought he was capable of. Today seemed to feel worse than any other day he'd come to visit; but this was the first time it had rained this hard in a few years. He hadn't visited on a crappy day like this before now. Luckily though, he had Lydia here to support him.

Stiles was unsure if he should do anything else. Should he turn and leave, drive Lydia home? Stay? Wait for the rain to pass? Lydia's voice came from beside him again and he blinked his eyes to observe her. She was absolutely soaked, along with Stiles himself, but he refused to look at her in any other way than with adoration and passion in his eyes. She was so damn beautiful…

'What was she like?'

And just like that, a shaky, taut breath escaped his pale lips. He felt the sadness tugging at one end of his heart, and then Lydia's question tugging at the other. In the end he settled for a slight shrug, at first unsure what to tell her. Stiles's caramel coloured eyes slowly traced the contours of Lydia's lips, chin and neck. Then, he looked down to the hand she'd used to tug him along with, and he slowly took hold of it again. His heart began pumping harder and faster as soon as he felt her cold skin against his fingers. The nerves had been brought out by the cold rain, but Stiles pushed past them. He enjoyed holding her hand, and he wanted to feel it again, just for a while.

He slowly opened her fingers with his and then slipped his hand against her palm. He could feel her shaking from the cold, and honestly he wanted to just wrap his arms around her and shield her from it. He couldn't do that just yet though – he was slowly climbing the nerve-less ladder, but going in for a hug was still a few steps ahead. He'd only just managed to hold eye contact without resorting to a goofy, stupid open-mouthed grin at her.

"She was amazing," he said finally, trying to still his shaking hand against Lydia's. He didn't want to come across as weak here, in fact, he refused to. "Really funny, she'd do anything to make me laugh when I was sad. She made my dad super happy, too." It was hard to talk about his mother to someone who he didn't yet consider a close friend. Only Scott knew about these truths, next to no one else ever would. Claudia was a mysterious subject with Stiles, and you'd probably get more information from his father instead, if you could get past the initial semi-rage that came along with bringing his wife up.

"She would have liked you a lot," he added, and pulled his lips together, frowning. The thunder sounded again, only this time it sounded more distant. The storm was, thankfully, on the outskirts of town and wasn't coming above the cemetery anytime soon. The rain, however, showed no signs of letting up. Stiles didn't mind it much, though. He was shivering, his hair was damp and slightly beginning to curl in areas, but he was here with Lydia, and she made everything better.

* * *

Her inner turmoil had slowly started to settle down, leaving only a faint feeling of something she couldn't quite identify. Upon entering the cemetery, she had honestly felt like she couldn't do this, like every step she was taking was eating away at her mind and sanity. It wasn't all negative feelings, but the sudden rush of them had been intense and terrifying. She had no explanation for it either, maybe she was going insane after all, because she couldn't imagine that it was normal to experience these kinds of sensations upon visiting a cemetery. The worst seemed to be over now though and she was starting to feel safe again without the urge to glance around nervously to check if someone was hiding behind a tree or following them.

She waited for Stiles' answer quietly and patiently while glancing down at the tomb stone and the flowers that he had placed there. From the corner of her eye, she could see that he was still looking at her and if she didn't know for a fact that her mascara was waterproof, she would have assumed that he was staring at black smudges around her green eyes. But he looked at her as if she was a goddess or something, she wasn't oblivious of that and she was quite sure that even though a lot of boys fancied her, no one had ever stared at her with that much admiration in his eyes.

She didn't realize that Stiles had reached out to take hold of her hand again, so she was startled upon suddenly feeling his cold fingers against her own. They were wet, just like hers. The rain had given both of them a 'shower' and it was still pouring down on them relentlessly even though their clothes were already soaked. Lydia lightly squeezed his hand supportingly and turned her head to look up at him, a soft smile now gracing her features as she listened to his words. He didn't say much, but from what she heard, Claudia Stilinski sounded like a wonderful, loving mother and wife. "Really?" Lydia's mouth remained half open for a few seconds as she stared back at Stiles in surprise. Somehow, she couldn't quite imagine a woman like Claudia liking her much. Sure, she had gotten along well with Jackson's mother, but … Lightly shaking her head, Lydia took her eyes off Stiles. Why would Jackson even come to her mind right now? Stiles was a friend while Jackson had been her _boy_friend. It was like comparing apples and oranges.

The strong wind was making her wet clothes feel even colder against her body as she stood there next to Stiles, barely moving at all. She wished the weather had just stayed nice, but apparently this wasn't her day. She was soaked through and through, without any source of warmth, shivering violently now. "I'm really cold," she muttered after a while, pressing her lips together and shifting her weight from one foot to another. She wasn't quite sure if her leather purse would survive this, which was a pity, seeing as it was pretty new. She had only had it for a week, but at least she had gotten it on sale and it wasn't her favorite either.

* * *

The rain really did nothing to dampen Stiles' spirits. Yes, he was quickly losing heat and yes the once nicely peaceful scenery surrounding the teenagers had been totally destroyed; but literally none of that mattered. It didn't matter if today had been the nicest day of the year or the warmest day ever to be recorded in Beacon Hills in the past ten years; it could have been snowing, there might have been a tornado, there might have been body parts raining from the heavens – it didn't matter. Stiles had made it here to visit his mom, and more so, he'd connected on a deeper, emotional level with Lydia, even if neither of them seemed to register it remotely.

Of course Stiles was reading into this. Before this, before all of this, Lydia Martin had no idea that the boy existed. He was just the dork who sat behind her in biology – and even then he wasn't entirely sure that she knew he'd been born at all. That day in the hospital after Scott had messed up Jacksons' arm had been the benchmark in their rather odd and quirky relationship, and looking back on all of the failed attempts to get her attention and hold a decent conversation with the stunning girl had been fruitless, until now. Stiles was well aware that he could get seriously hurt by a girl like Lydia. Girls like Lydia just didn't go for guys like him, it was natural, it was the status quo of teenage life. Hot people went for other hot people, and the dorks usually ended up alone. Life was cruel to you unless you were gorgeous like Lydia Martin. So, what was it that had gotten her attention here with Stiles?

The answer was obvious. Everyone knew it; Scott knew it, the lacrosse team knew it, Danny knew it, hell, Derek even probably knew it – the only reason that Lydia was here now with Stiles, was that 1) she felt sorry for the poor boy, and 2) he was the Jackson substitute alongside Aiden. Obviously, Aiden was a handful to be around, so maybe Lydia was taking the more-bearable option here. It was a horrible thing to think, that Lydia Martin, the love of his life, only liked Stiles because she felt sorry for him and because she was missing a jock in her life. But, of course, Stiles took it all in. He didn't care about his own heart, he didn't care about the increasing chance of getting emotionally murdered by the strawberry blonde sweetheart and he didn't care how much of a fool he looked, because he was close to her. She spoke to him now, she came to him asking for advice, help with homework, she texted him when she was bored and more recently, when she couldn't sleep. Did it mean something? Or was he reading into this?

Lydia's voice broke through the pitter-patter of the rain and the silence just as Stiles mulled it all over in his mind. His look of distant awe and admiration had fallen from his colourless, pale face as Lydia spoke, and he seemed to snap back with a powerful slap to the cheek. He blinked his warm eyes at the girl and simply nodded at first.  
"Yeah," he answered, voice slightly gruff and scratchy. He tried to clear his throat before continuing. "yeah, yeah she would'a loved you." And for the second time since they'd gotten into Stiles' jeep, the boy faked a smile. What he'd just thought about had knocked his sense of being wanted loose. He realized how naïve he was being; believing that this meant something now that Jackson was in London and they were both as scared as eachother. Stiles didn't want to come alone here, that was the sole purpose of Lydia's place. As much as Stiles wanted to believe that and shake off the hurting feeling in his heart, like it was slowly breaking all over again, he simply couldn't. You didn't just get over Lydia Martin in a single moment. Oh no, she was there for life. You don't forget about a girl that you've loved since the first time you'd seen her; and you especially wouldn't be doubting anything if she was clenching onto your hand and stood close for warmth and shelter from the rain. If anything, Stiles should be enjoying this moment and taking advantage of the fact that Lydia was here, beside him, her pale, perfectly painted fingers laced inbetween his like shackles and chains. As improper as it all seemed with the crappy circumstances and with Jacksons' absence and Lydia's loneliness, it really felt perfect.

That same look of awe and ease came back over the boys' face as Lydia spoke again. She informed the boy that she was cold, to which Stiles nodded at. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he looked away from Lydia's unmarred face to look around. He looked to the right, past the graves and vast emptiness of the rest of the cemetery, towards the couple they had passed earlier. They were hurrying down the path, towards the entrance where they had entered, obviously with intention to go home. Stiles realized it was unfair of him to keep Lydia out here in the cold and the rain simply because he was revelling in the fact that she was holding his hand, and responded with a solid, strong voice.  
"Me too," Total lie of course – Stiles felt like he was burning up from the inside out, like a fire that had been slowly crackling had just erupted into a towering inferno after fuel had been poured all over it. His heart was thumping like it normally did when Lydia was within ten feet of his body, and his mind was once again racing at ten million miles a second, the way that it should be. Stiles should, and probably always would, be nervous around Lydia. She just did that to him; like Superman's kryptonite, it was the only analogy. Stiles couldn't come up with a good enough sounding Batman analogy, sadly.

"I'll take you back home," Stiles said rather than offered, and stepped back, his wet vans making the gravelly earth crumble beneath his sole. He gently tugged on Lydia's hand, as if to beckon her back to the car, back away from where his mother was, all the while inviting her with warm, hazel eyes and a faint, blush-enhanced smile. It was strange how the pink looked so bright and vivid on his cheeks and at the tip of his nose. It could have been the cold doing it to him, but he knew in his heart that he was blushing. He'd blushed many times before in her presence, but only a select few people got to see that. He wondered if Lydia ever had seen this, and that made him smirk just a bit wider, the laugh lines appearing on the sides of his lips like trademarks.

* * *

"Okay," she muttered quietly, briefly glancing at him with an almost shy look that you didn't see too often from Lydia Martin. Averting her big, green eyes from Stiles, she took a step back and slowly slid her hand out of his, rubbing her cold hands together. They made their way back through his jeep in silence, but keeping up a rather fast pace that Lydia set. She was eager to get home and take a hot shower, change into more comfortable clothes and make herself a cup of tea. But getting comfortable and into the warmth of her room wasn't the only reason that made the strawberry blonde hurry so much. It was also the fact that this place was still giving her the creeps and she felt strangely connected to it in a way that she didn't want to. It made her feel like she was going crazy all over again and it frightened her. There was no need to stay longer than necessary. In a way, she was actually happy about the sudden change of weather. It was a good excuse to get going.

Once they stepped through the big cemetery gate, Lydia immediately felt like a weight was being taken off her shoulders and she took a deep, relaxing breath. Folding her arms in front of her chest and shifting her weight from one foot to another as she tried not to tremble so much from the cold, she waited for Stiles to unlock his car so they could get inside. In the past months, she had come to both hate and love that blue jeep Stiles drove. It wasn't elegant or expensive like the cars she was used to. Lydia hated the fact that it wasn't as easy to get into it when she was wearing high heels and the fact that it wasn't going nearly as smoothly as a Porsche. It was big and old, had its rusty parts and a striking blue color. But in the past month, Lydia had slowly started to get attached to it, and the weirdest thing was that she didn't actually know why. There was no obvious explanation as to why she would suddenly stop minding that stupid vehicle and all its flaws, but she wasn't just getting used to it and too tired to complain anymore – she actually truly began to appreciate it.

Lydia climbed into the car and set her wet purse down beside her, rubbing her freezing hands together again. A hot shower sounded really good. The strawberry blonde tilted her head a little, gazing at the gates of the cemetery as Stiles pulled out of the parking lot. She knew she probably wouldn't be coming back here anytime soon. She didn't know how often Stiles visited his mother, but he usually took Scott with him. Lydia was perfectly fine not visiting a cemetery again anytime soon though. She still had a feeling that the place had somehow invaded her mind.

She leaned forward just enough so she could reach the car radio, turning it on and then making a disgusted face at the song that was playing. But after a few seconds of listening to it, she stopped making a pouty face and shrugged. It was better than no music at all. Then she grabbed her purse and retrieved a small pocket mirror, checking her make-up. Always buying the water-proof stuff was definitely worth it as there were almost no smudged, black lines around her eyes. She dabbed some powder on her cheeks before closing the mirror again and stuffing it back into her purse. It was getting a bit warmer in the car, but very slowly. They would most likely arrive at her place before it was nice and cozy in the jeep. Lydia looked to the side and at Stiles, running a hand through her long, wet hair. She had noticed the soft blush on his cheeks back at the cemetery and it made her uncomfortable. Lydia Martin didn't mind if all the guys at Beacon Hills High had a crush on her, but not Stiles. It was making everything complicated, this whole friendship thing that had slowly started to develop between them. She didn't want that to end, because it made her feel good in a way she would have never expected. Sometimes he was annoying her so much she wanted to snap at him and shove him, but she still liked having him around. She had gone from not even noticing him to realizing immediately when he didn't come to school, because she was always looking for him and when she didn't see him at his usual place in one of the classes they had together, it wasn't a good feeling. She was used to him leaning over his desk looking completely bored or halfway to falling asleep, or scribbling something on a piece of paper or chatting with Scott until they both got detention. Lydia didn't think much of it, it was just supposed to be like that.

The blue jeep stopped in front of her house and Lydia grabbed her purse. She opened the car door and jumped out of the vehicle, still shivering. "Don't forget about my party this Saturday." She looked up at Stiles. Why would she even mention that? It wasn't like anyone ever forgot about Lydia Martin's parties. It was silly to remind him of it and yet she had done it with excitement in her voice. A part of her felt strange. Not the cemetery-kind of strange, a different kind of strange that she couldn't quite put her finger on. But she brushed it off.

* * *

The warm inside of Stiles' heart contrasted drastically with the coldness outside caused by the rain. His clothes, by now, were just as damp as Lydia's. The hoodie that he wore was now three shades darker and was stuck fast to his slim frame; along with his jeans, outlining how skinny he really was. He was shivering slightly, but ignored it all to try and appear more capable than he was. To impress Lydia? Probably, but he knew it was most likely fruitless. There wasn't much of a point trying to come across as macho at a time like this. The pair of them were freezing cold, soaking wet, and the rain didn't seem like it was going to let up any time soon. Stiles, who's demeanor had become a lot stronger now (probably because he wanted out of there and into a warm shower ASAP), looked up towards the grey clouds. He squinted against the fat raindrops that continued to cascade down; littering his pale skin with fresh, sparkling water, which then dripped down his cheeks and neck, and dripped from the collected tufts of near black hair onto the floor.

While the two of them hurried away from the graves and the subtle beauty of the cemetery, Stiles couldn't help but re-run everything that had just happened. He thought about how quickly he'd freaked out and offered to drive her home, but more importantly, that she'd even come this far in the first place. Just imagine if anyone at school found out about this. Jesus, all sorts of rumours would have begun floating around. That feeling of somehow dragging Lydia along came back to him as Stiles noticed how eager she was to get out of there, which washed away any happy feeling he had since she'd grabbed his hand. Oh, her hand. She'd let go as soon as she had a chance to, and without even realizing it, Stiles had crossed both arms across his chest and tucked his hands into the recedes of his arm pits, trying to grasp at any kind of warmth he could have retained.

Graves passed by in a grey blur as they hurried along into a hasty jog. Stiles was left slightly behind Lydia as he took the time out to close the gate carefully behind them both, showing a kind of care that no one else really did. This was where his mom was, of course he was going to love it and care for it, even if Lydia had left the gates wide open carelessly. He'd forgive her for that, knowing that the weather must have messed up her hair and her ego. That was okay, she didn't quite understand. After shutting the gate properly, Stiles ran up to the other side of his car and pressed one hand up to the window. With the other, he fiddled around in his pockets for his keys, breathing a misted sigh of relief when he finally found them. He unlocked the car and clambered inside as quickly as his shaking body would allow, and then slammed the door against its lock, like he had a million times before that.

The boy took a while to gather his thoughts. For a moment he stared out of the rain-splattered windshield at the gates he'd closed, but past them, towards where they'd come back from. In all honesty he didn't want to leave so early on, but what Lydia wanted, Lydia got. He wasn't going to keep her out here any longer than she needed to be. Stiles tried to dry off his fingers on his jeans, but those were equally as soaked, and so resorted to cupping his hands over his lips as he blew into his palms. There was barely enough heat generated to make his hands stop shaking, but it was enough to make his fingers nimble again. He quickly twisted the key into the ignition, clipped in his seat belt, and turned up the heater before he pulled out of the parking space, his trusted jeep roaring into life from a brief rest.

Considering how much the boy hated silence – awkward silence at that – he was comfortable with not speaking to Lydia. He didn't like it much, not talking and occupying the emptiness, but it was better than speaking about something that didn't matter or would go forgotten. He'd already brought enough stress to the girl without bugging her with stupid small-talk; besides, she made it obvious back in the cemetery that she didn't want to talk about anything. Maybe he really should have come by himself. It would have been a lot easier, and he could have stayed longer. Too late now.

At every red light and chance he got, Stiles wiped the rain from his pale face and brushed his plastered hair from his eyes as best he could. He could still feel the wet residue from the rain dripping down the back of his neck and down beneath his shirt, onto his back, which brought shudders to his body every now and then. As he brushed his hair back away from his forehead, it held its place and stuck up in funny directions, before slowly falling down onto a flattened, shining cap on his head again. He didn't have much colour anymore, even his usually warm, inviting hazel eyes seemed dull. The only thing that seemed to remain remotely constant was the blush on his cheeks, and the redness at the end of his nose. But by now that was down to the cold, nothing else. Any kind of spark that Stiles had kid himself into thinking he had felt between them was dead; he and Lydia were strangers again in the car.

The car ride seemed short. They both pulled up outside Lydia's house – Stiles had gotten as close to her door as possible to minimize the amount of time she had in the rain again, but the rain had let up for a brief moment, as if to allow Lydia a chance to get back inside without re-soaking her clothing and hair. Stiles was looking down at the different gauges and dials on his dashboard when Lydia spoke to him. He looked up, half surprised that she'd bothered to talk to him, half confused. He didn't know what to say back to her. He felt out of place again, he felt awkward, he felt like Stiles Stilinski once more.  
"Uh, yeah. Sure." No goodbye, no 'see ya later', not even a smile. Stiles just looked at her, blankly, as if he hadn't even met her before.

Lydia closed the door and Stiles watched through watery windows as she hurried up her driveway and up to her front door. He sat and watched her until her mother opened the door to let her in, just to make sure that she was safely at home, and then he kicked his jeep back into gear, and drove off. Feelings like this could usually be cured by video games or movies, which was why he drove off to the store, instead of going home. He needed something new to occupy his time.

* * *

**So that's how this one-shot ends... don't be disheartened if these two don't seem to be totally in love yet, because believe me, they will be! If you like (or even if you don't) feel free to drop a review our way. It makes me smile to read what you guys think of myself and Mila's writing. Again, I'm also sorry for the wait. Thanks for reading! - Jay**


End file.
